Emotionally Shortchanged
by helicase
Summary: Red vs. Blue AU; With a heterosexual life partner like Maine and a new employee like Epsilon, Wash has got all he can handle on his rather tiny plate. Meanwhile, York tries to charm a fallen genius and everyone gets emotionally shortchanged.
1. Chapter 1

This is a short chapter that's acting something like an introduction. Please Enjoy my loopy real-world AU.

* * *

><p>Delta sniffed in disdain. This was so embarrassing. To think that he – him! – was working at a lowly convenience store in the middle of nowhere was beyond all logic and making his slightly less-logically inclined parts scream in frustration. He had done nothing today – no customers, no boss, no coworkers. Just looking blankly ahead at the remote cracks on the yellowed ceiling. All day. Every day. But Delta was a man in disgrace, booted from his prestigious job at a prestigious company, wallowing in the human filth that existed where he was now. His rent needed to be paid, and so this is where he ended up. The only person who would hire him was a ratty old woman with buck teeth who pinched his ass on the way out of the interview. Delta shuddered thinking about it.<p>

_Ok so, enough of the pity party. Probability of regaining my job: none. I went too far, too fast, without enough ground to plant my feet on, and got in way too deep. My fault._

His musings shattered when the relatively small bell attached to the single door in the store jangled jarringly. Delta blinked, looked away from that particular crack in the ceiling, waiting for his first customer of the week. How this place stayed afloat, Delta did not know, and his logic failed him when he considered the diseased building. The man who walked around the corner was – for all intents and purposes – gorgeous. Delta blinked, his breath seemingly incapable of entering his lungs, and his mind scrabbling to find purchase in some delicious relief of logic as to why he felt so lightheaded.

The man was tall – taller than Delta, with dark hair and a tan complexion and dark blue eyes. He flashed a smile at Delta, who shrunk from him, as if scared of his own beating pulse. Those teeth were white and straight, the lips that curved over top of them were thin but attractive, and looked oh-so-kissable.

_Kissable? Delta, knock it off! Keep your head! You are_not_some teenaged girl with hormones racing at the sight and scent of an alpha male!_

No matter how hard he tried to keep his knees straight, they failed him. He slouched against the counter, visibly supporting his weight on the cool plastic. Delta realized with a jolt that he was_swooning_, of all things! The man didn't seem to notice, drew closer, still smiling at Delta.

"Hello. You've got cigs here, right?" Delta blinked, remembered his function, and obeyed the command in his head that screamed 'Work! Do your job!'

His mouth felt paper-dry as he answered shakily, "Would… would that be cigars or cigarettes, sir?"

The man's eyebrows lifted at the question. "Sir? Haven't been called that in… well, forever. No matter, cigarettes please. The brown label. Yeah, those are the ones…"

He kept talking while Delta faced away from him to skim his hands over the shelves, picking a generic pack when the man gave indication as to which ones he wanted. He quickly turned again and set the package on the counter. There was no way he was handing them to the man, he didn't know if he could stand actual physical contact with those calloused hands.

The man didn't seem to notice, but was glancing at Delta's name card in a casual fashion. Delta caught his eyes on it, and blushed just the tiniest bit, but managed to keep foreign emotions at bay. This was so unusual for Delta – swooning, attraction, lust, even. Whenever he met a new person, male or female, he scanned briefly over their bodies, their faces and their intelligence level. None of them had satisfied them, and so he developed no feelings, and simply moved on.

So why was this man whom Delta had known for a little over two minutes so different? That was the thing – he wasn't. There was nothing significant about him. He was wearing non-descript clothing, a non-descript haircut, and had a non-descript car, from what Delta could see through the dirty storefront. Absolutely nothing stood out about him; he was just an attractive man who smoked. But something in Delta's emotional center – so long unused – scrambled in confusion at his eyes and his smile. It excited and scared Delta at the same time.

All of these thoughts broke off abruptly when the man spoke again.

"So, Delta. When's your shift end?"

Delta blinked again, caught completely off-guard, not knowing what to say.

"Uh… well, I get off at five but I was planning to work overtime, I mean, because I need to pay my rent and I need more hours on my paycheck in order to have everything line up just the way I need it, and, and…" Delta stopped, realized he was still talking, became embarrassed.

The man smiled again, not minding at all. Or at least, not minding outwardly.

"That's fine. I'll meet you outside at nine. Tell me, would you like to hit the clubs or would you rather knock back some vodka?"

Delta frowned. "Well I don't really see the need for those kinds of thing-"

The man chuckled. "As I suspected. We'll go to the bookstore then. See you at nine." He began to walk away, cigarettes forgotten on the counter.

At the last moment, Delta recovered from his euphoria enough to yell after him, "Wait!" He stopped. "What's your name?"

The man turned partially, that smile splitting his lips again. "Name's York. See you later, D."

It was almost magical, how simple and easy that was. Two men, a five-minute interaction, and bam, they were friends. Delta wished he had a digital system mapping all logical outcomes to a conversation. However, he didn't have one, and had to settle for his foolish mouth running when it shouldn't, and his treacherous and formerly unknown emotions getting the better of him. But at nine he was going to a bookstore with a gorgeous man who had slipped into his life so casually that it was almost unbelievable.

And Delta could hardly wait.

* * *

><p>Review if you wanna or you enjoyed it, please.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

I've never been pulled over before, so this is all winging it.

* * *

><p>"Washington. Washingtub. C'mon buddy, g'mornin'"<p>

The man being talked to wanted roll over and strangle the person talking to him. He settled for burying his head further into the pillow and groaning.

"It," Wash said, his voice still groggy with sleep, "is too goddamn early for this. Go _away_, Maine."

Maine, half-smirking face and eyes bright with mirth, wriggled closer to his… roommate. There really were no words to describe what the two of them were; the closest description was between 'roommates' and 'heterosexual life partners'.

Whatever the hell Maine was to him, besides annoying, Wash really didn't give a hoot about. He just wanted the… what? Was it that time already? Shit.

He leaped out of the opposite side of the bed that Maine was currently occupying and nearly yelped in the cold air, scrambling to find clothes in their messy apartment. He had tried to keep it clean but Maine had a habit of eternally messing his neat and orderly things up. Shrugging into the cleanest clothes he could find – just a sweater and jeans and an old, dirty pair of sneakers – he grabbed his keys, rattled off a list of chores to Maine and bolted out the door like a bat out of hell.

He was late on the first day of his new employee's job, and _goddamn_ if that was unprofessional.

Maine frowned at both his best friend leaving and the list of chores. Working from 'home' certainly had disadvantages, many involving Maine acting as a housewife. Cooking, cleaning, everything that the man wasn't good at. Wash in a rage, however, was certainly more displeasing than cleaning dishes, so he supposed he could dick around for a couple of hours before getting to work.

Hurrying down the stairs of the apartment building and out to his car, Washington hoped desperately that York would be kind enough to let the new kid in. That was the one advantage of having York's bar literally right next to his store – he usually got it started in the morning if Wash was otherwise preoccupied. While a hardware store wasn't that hard to upkeep, it was much harder when Wash had suddenly found himself with on-site jobs for electricity, plumbing, everything that took training that he couldn't do from the shop. Hiring someone new was most certainly a must, and with the new inflow of cash from all his recent work, it didn't seem like that much of a hassle.

Flying down the road, he blew two red lights and almost hit a little yellow smart car, cursing wildly at the obvious stupidity even though it was he himself who ran the stop sign. He sulked until – oh _not today._

The familiar whine of a police vehicle sounded behind him, and Wash grudgingly pulled over to the curb.

The police officer who stepped out was the very last person he ever wanted to see. The officer crunched over gravel to his side door as he manually cranked down the window in his old car.

Officer Tex pushed her sunglasses down her nose the slightest bit, just enough to be able to peer disapprovingly over them at Washington, who was staring sullenly at a point just over her shoulder.

"Mr. Washington. Again." He muttered a faint reply that sounded an awful lot like "Yeahwhaddayawantwoman"

She ignored his insubordination and tutted disapprovingly, tapping her fingers on the frame of his car.

"This is the third time this month. You know, you should really calm down when you're driving." Tex was smirking. God _damn_ her.

"I am perfectly calm, officer." His voice was anything but. Wash had hunched his shoulders defensively and his face was staring straight ahead, mouth frowning and forehead creased.

"That will be a collective fine greater than the three you received already." She was far too calm, taunting him, trying to bait him into an uncharacteristic show of rage. Weren't police officers supposed to be as non-instigating as possible? Not Tex, oh no. This one got off on pissing Wash off, no doubt.

"Please just stop beating around the goddamn bush and give me my fine already, I'm kind of in a rush."

"That is a little obvious, yes." Exasperating! Infuriating! He had to _go_, he had no time for her nonsense. He remained silent, jaw set, waiting. Finally she sighed, slammed her hand down on the roof of his car just to make him jump, and pulled out her tablet, writing a number quickly in pen and handing it to him.

"Third time's a charm, honey. Pay that in a week or we'll tow your car." He snatched it from her hand and started his engine, going at a noticeably lower speed than before he had been pulled over. How many minutes had this wasted? Twenty? Thirty? Oh, forty, glorious.

Pulling up with a screech and a small clash of metal on cement, Washington hopped out and speed-walked to the door, swinging it open with a flourish and a rush of air.

York was idly dangling an end of a hose from his left hand as the rest of his body leaned on a glass counter, face bored.

The new employee standing next to him was… well, a lot younger than Wash expected.

_How old is that kid? 17? 18?_

His face was incredibly young, pale skin and a barest hint of freckles. His eyes were a blue that nearly defied the meaning of the word 'blue' and his hair was very mussed and very black. His expression was between surprised and absolutely terrified.

The silence stretched until York did.

He straightened and yawned, letting the hose dangle out of his hand and trail on the floor as he turned to face Washington.

"Hey, I'm not babysitting for you again man. What kept you?" While the tone was light, there was a very real meaning behind it. Every minute that York spent watching the shop was money lost in his bar slash restaurant next door. They were friends, but they both had to make money, and while a little favor didn't hurt here or there, York meant to imply that this would not be a common occurrence. Wash understood, but that didn't stop the gigantic sigh that bubbled from his chest.

"It is a _long_ story. How long does it take you to make $20,000?" York whistled lowly, eyebrows rocketing.

"Damn," he paused for effect, "what's it like to be Tex's bitch?" Washington growled defensively and reddened, yanking his friend's arm towards the door in an effort to keep York from embarrassing him further. After gently pushing him out, York winked at him and strolled away, taking all his sassy bravado with him.

Turning back around, it was just Wash and his new employee in the shop.

_Well_. _I suppose I should start with the usual._

Cautiously, like a human approaching a rabid animal, Wash edged towards the glass counter that served as a register for the shop. The kid had been frozenly standing behind it, that same expression on his face.

"Hi…" Wash was so bad with meeting new people, especially people younger than him. What if the kid didn't like him? Didn't respect him?

_Jesus christ, Washington, you're not like his dad or anything. Just show him how the shop operates and sail into the sunset to do on-site jobs. Nothin' to it._

It was really odd how his mental voice talked a lot like Maine.

"Hey, what's your name? I'm Washington, but I assume you already knew that."

The kid nodded, still seemingly scared out of his wits. "I-I'm Epsilon. Nice to m-meet you, s-s-sir." Epsilon stuck a light hand out awkwardly to his new employer. Wash stared down at it, pretty sure that if he stared hard enough, he could see the delicate bones running underneath the skin; Epsilon was so pale he was very nearly translucent. Remembering his manners, he took it carefully, fairly sure that he would crush the poor kid's hand if he squeezed too hard.

"Please don't call me 'sir', Epsilon, it… makes me feel old." He was only thirty four but something about that word made his skin crawl.

"I'm s-sorry sir!" Wash chuckled at the repeated 'sir' and watched Epsilon fumble for another second or two before correcting himself yet again.

"Calm down, kid, I won't fire you for a little mistake …How old are you, again?" It was really bothering the crap out of Wash, how young he looked.

"T-t-twenty-two, si- I mean W-Washington." Oh, so not still a teenager, yet with still all the awkward gawky marks of one, even the social skills.

"Well, come along then, you've got a lot to learn before you can keep the shop up by yourself…" He led Epsilon amongst the many aisles and shelves of the store, showing him how to stock and label and price, how to use the register and how to struggle with the ancient cash drawer. After two hours, Epsilon had become comfortable enough with the environment and with Washington to let his stutter slip noticeably. It wasn't bad for a first day on the job. After four hours, it was time for a lunch break.

He took Epsilon to a kind-of upscale café, trying to keep the environment nice but without the rich pizzazz that Washington could neither afford regularly nor scare the wits out of his employee with. Frowning at the menu, he realized that this was one of those womanly cafés that didn't serve real food, but rather small gourmet 'dishes' that Wash could finish off with one or two bites, at the most.

Glancing across the small table at Epsilon – their knees kept bumping into each other's uncomfortably under the table - the younger man seemed to be quite entranced with the menu and the entire café as a whole. His eyes were scanning the menu rapidly and he kept glancing up at the painted designs on the walls, seemingly appreciating the atmosphere.

He didn't seem to notice Wash's eyes on him, so Wash unashamedly kept looking: studying the straight shape of his nose and the way he was letting a smile slip in once or twice while reading something apparently amusing on the menu. The curves of his lips were-

_Christ, Wash, do you want him to work with you or sleep with you? Knock it off._

Glaring back down at his menu, he decided to order the least nonsensical-sounding thing on here, which was still on the definitely small side and probably cost more than one would expect.

The woman who came to take their order kept looking between the two of them like there was something that she knew about them that they didn't. She was nice, perhaps overly so, and she kept smiling like they were the cutest thing.

Wait.

The cutest thing?

No, Wash still had no idea what her issue was. He ordered and half-grinned but hid it behind a hand as Epsilon stuttered his way through an order and then handed both menus to the lady.

They waited in silence and the food came relatively quickly. Epsilon picked a little bit, but didn't really seem to be eating much. No wonder he was the skinniest scrap of skin Washington had ever seen, he didn't eat! After consuming about half of his 'meal', which was really more like an appetizer, he paused and eyed Epsilon's plate.

"Hey, Eps." Wash's mouth was half-full, and saying the entire name seemed like a hassle. So he settled for a nickname.

"You should probably eat. I'll be on on-site jobs after lunch and you'll have to handle the store by yourself. Thing usually pick up during rush hour as people are running errands after work, so you should really try to keep your strength up. I'll teach you how to mix paint and handle those power tools tomorrow." Wash swallowed, hoping that Epsilon heard that all.

A look of rigid fear had wormed its way back onto the kid's face. Really? Again? What was he so scared of?

"Yo-you're leaving after lunch? I'll be h-handling the store by m-m-myself?" The stutter was back, too. What was his _deal?_

"…Yeah? That was kind of in the job description." Wash swallowed again, not really hungry any more, and pushed the plate away from himself. It chinked softly against Epsilon's. Epsilon was staring at his still mostly-untouched food.

"Oh…" His voice was small. Then he looked back up, not scared anymore but mostly calm, if a little unsure.

"That's… that's alright. I can do it. I remember everything you told me."

With that, Wash smiled and got up, leaving enough money for the bill and a decent tip, and exited the little café with Epsilon.

The drive back was mostly silent, and when they reached the curb Wash handed the extra key to the shop to Epsilon with a set of instructions.

"I won't be back until late. You can lock up shop at six, or five if things are slow. I assume you know how to lock up?" Epsilon nodded, a little indignant at the accusation.

"Good. You can head home then, don't wait around for me." Epsilon nodded again and exited the car, walking up to the front door and flipping the "closed for lunch" sign to "open".

Just as Wash was about to drive away, Epsilon turned and yelled, "Hey, wait!" He waited.

"…thanks for lunch…_Wash_?" The nickname fell unexpectedly from his mouth, tumbling from his tongue like a baby bird hopping the nest before it could fly. Wash laughed and gave the customary "You're welcome" before peeling from the curb and checking his list for the first client today.

434 Blood Gulch Lane, under one Mr. Sarge.

Sounded interesting.

* * *

><p>Poor Wash is the worst driver :'C<p>

At least his next job will be interesting!


	3. Chapter 3

What is Spanish? I certainly don't speak it, so if this grammar is absolutely shitty, I blame google translate.

* * *

><p>It was nine, and Delta felt like a fool.<p>

Here he was, waiting outside of his dirty little convenience store, and his 'shining knight' was nowhere to be seen.

He should walk home and eat dinner and go to sleep; he had early shift tomorrow. Despite what his mind was saying, he wanted to wait for just sixty more seconds, and sixty seconds after that. Perhaps York would come.

Probability said no, but his heart said yes. Normally, probability won. There was absolutely no reason for probability to _not_ win, other than the fact that any car on the road _could be_ York. The shimmering possibility kept Delta rooted to the spot, silently pondering his own motives.

Exactly three hundred and forty five seconds after nine o' clock, the same car that Delta had noted earlier that day pulled directly in front of him. After staring at the door in something akin to amazement – somebody had not, for once, shortchanged him – York knocked on the window in an attempt to snap Delta out of whatever La-La-Land he traveled in.

Blinking rapidly, Delta slid his hand along the handle of the car door for the first time, hesitantly, trying to categorize the texture of the worn metal. He was used to long, sleek limos, painted shiny black with no mark or speck of imperfection. High-profile, high-life, is what someone he knew used to say.

_No longer._

Coming back to reality at the face of York smiling inquisitively at him from behind slightly foggy glass, Delta opened the door just enough for him to slide himself inside and closed it behind him. Immediately he was assaulted by a scent that Delta would forever associate with York and that couldn't really be picked apart – it was nice, don't get Delta wrong, and had undertones of sweet tobacco and perhaps the tiniest hint of liquor –

"Have you been drinking?" It came out slightly more accusatory than it should have, but he swore to all the holy programmers that he would get out of this car right now if York had been consuming a single drop of alcohol.

York heard the undertone and laughed outright, dropping one hand from the steering wheel to comfortably lay across his seat arm.

"No, D, I'm a bartender." Oh. _Oh_. Delta felt a little sheepish and stared at his hands, saying nothing.

The older man continued a low chuckle as he pulled out of the convenience store's pot-holed parking lot. At first, Delta didn't know how to start. He shifted slightly in the leather seat, realizing that the passenger seat was highly unused from the still-soft feel of the leather.

Finally feeling that there was no particular reason for him to not be talking – it was what people did when under friendly circumstances, correct? – he began awkwardly, "What bookstore will we be, ah, visiting?"

"Are you okay with regular Barnes and Noble, or is there something you prefer…?" York left the ending open for him to interrupt.

"No, that is most acceptable." Excellent, in fact. Overtime had provided Delta with some extra money in which he hoped to be purchasing some new theory books on the progression of the human mind to one driven by survival to one driven by logic. It was all interesting stuff, really, but the books were hardcover and rather expensive. He adjusted his glasses and glanced out the window.

York kept glancing over at him, he could sense it, but either the man was too focused on driving or too worried about bothering his passenger's thoughts to speak.

Finally: "Do you like Mexican?" Delta's head shot back around to stare slightly wide-eyed at York.

"I hope you do not intend to purchase a meal for me."

York shrugged.

"That is entirely unnecessary and - " There really was no reason to refuse, but Delta liked to think he had some shred of pride. Taking meals from near strangers was a little too close to charity for his liking, even though Delta could always use financial breaks. The idea of a starving scholar was romantic, but not too terribly practical. The books he planned on buying tonight would mean he would literally have to curb his eating for a few weeks.

" – that would be acceptable."

York raised his eyebrows at the sudden change of heart and tone but said nothing.

They had reached the book store and Delta made a beeline for the books he wanted, located in what York called in passing, "The extremely serious business hard-bound book section" of the store.

York sat at a café table, absentmindedly downing a scalding coffee and watching Delta move from bookshelf to bookshelf in a rhythmical pattern, fairly close to being entranced. Delta was an interesting man to York – shorter than him, fairly well built but most certainly on the skinnier side of things, with green, green eyes – the same color as a circuit board – and a gently angled chin. He was, if York was to be honest with himself, an almost feminine man, but lacking that soft edge of weakness. Delta was guarded, yes, but noticeably at ease around a charismatic man such as York.

Delta lacked a lot of things – significant facial expressions, common speech tics, imperfect grammar. His deadpanned speech pattern occasionally changed inflection or – as York had experienced earlier today – extremely interesting rambling when flustered.

Yes, D was mostly a mystery to York yet, but he did know one thing – he hadn't originated in that convenience store. Delta was a man of high polish, used to men in suits and hushed tones, security detail and extremely classified secrets. How such a high-profile white-collar worker ended up in backwater America would most certainly be an interesting tale – one that, if York was careful and gentle and the utmost definition of loving – he could get out of Delta.

_It's just this, York, and you know it – you're not just going to walk away when it's finished. Delta is something unique, isn't he? You knew it from the very first moment, the very first flash of circuitry eyes and a rambling question. _

It was uncanny how much his mental voice sounded like Wash. _Really_.

Oh, jesus. Delta was slightly buckling under the weight of his selected volumes – a whole set of what looked to be extremely dry scientific books, but York would certainly not argue. He approached and noticed both D's arms and legs shaking and took half of the pile.

Delta had not been expecting it and jumped up a little when the weight seemingly disappeared. He peered over the top of his stack into – oh. The shaking in his knees came back as he made contact with York's eyes and warm smile again and hurriedly turned away, towards the front desk. Walking quickly to the register, he carefully slid one book to the terrified woman and told her she could just scan that thirty-three times, as they were all the same price.

She did so and York helped him carry the stacks back into his car, where Delta first politely asked if it was any sort of terrible inconvenience that he should place his books here temporarily. Of course, York said it was no problem at all and even opened the door for him.

They drove in silence once again to the restaurant, York watching both Delta and the road at the same time. As they pulled into the parking lot, Delta took a breath. Just as he was about to speak, York's cell phone went off. Looking sheepish, he asked for a minute and stepped out of the car, flipping it open to receive the call.

"Hullo?"

"York. YORK." The man being spoken at sternly winced, his ears not ready for the upcoming verbal assault.

"I don't know what in god's name I keep you around for other than locating my good-for-nothing ex-husband, which, by the way darling, have you seen him lately?"

York sighed. Rubbing his head, he debated his options.

Answer, rat your friend out, prepare for the showdown later or…

Lie, probably enrage this she-devil and keep your sanity for a little longer.

The option was clear.

"No, South, I have no idea where Washington is. He probably had a lot of on-site runs today and - " She hung up on him. She _always_ hung up on him!

"Fine, goddamn it!" He knew it was no use yelling at a phone but he did it anyway, clicking it shut in annoyance. When he looked up, he saw Delta looking at him inquisitively. He smiled, despite his irritation, because he could not possibly treasure the look on the younger man's face any more than he already did.

"You know, people generally consider it rude to eavesdrop." He was just messing with Delta, and he hoped that the over-analytical man realized that.

"You know, people generally consider it illogical to yell at technology…" There was a lopsided joke in there somewhere, York knew. Delta turned away, not giving away whether he was smiling or not, and closed the car door behind him, taking long strides towards the restaurant. York's smile widened as he stepped double-time to catch up.

"So who was that?" Delta asked almost shyly.

"Ehh, my best friend got married with a real bitch. They're divorced now, of course, but she keeps trying to find him in an effort to make him pay some bullshit legal claims. She never got pregnant, but theoretically there's child support? I don't know. It's all B.S. to me, since she's pretty much always been jealous that he could make money all by himself and she couldn't."

Delta looked down and away, saying nothing. York didn't see it or at least pretended to not.

They were seated shortly and a man dressed in all brown – and some funky-looking pants – came out to take their orders.

"Hola, mi nombre es López y yo seré vuestro servidor de hoy en día."

York blinked in complete ignorance – he had never studied Spanish, ever, but Delta looked fairly happy at the man's dialogue.

"Hola, López, mi nombre es Delta y esta es gustaría un poco de café, por favor. Si pudiera regresar en unos pocos minutos después de haber conseguido nuestro café, estaríamos encantados de orden. ¡Gracias!"

York stared at Delta in utter amazement as Lopez nodded and walked away. Delta made eye contact with York again and immediately looked down with a muttered, "What?"

"You speak Spanish?"

Delta shrugged. "…and German, French, Russian, Italian, Greek, Arabic and Farsi."

York coughed slightly, his intelligence thoroughly insulted. "Oh…"

"Our server's name is Lopez. I ordered us both a coffee and I told him we'd be making our minds up on orders shortly." Delta seemed completely nonplussed by knowing nine languages and blowing down York's intelligence meter in every way possible. Slightly red, York stuck his face in the menu and perused the spicy section, looking for something interesting to eat. Finally choosing something, he looked up in time for Lopez to return bearing two coffees and looking expectantly at Delta.

"Ah, gracias Lopez. Estamos listos para ordenar ahora. Voy a tener los burritos ligeramente picante y ... Creo York quiere que el taco de pescado muy picante."

York rested his head in his hands at the fast stream of Spanish issuing from his dinner partner's mouth. The menus were taken and York and Delta were staring at each other in silence once again. For some reason, D just couldn't meet York's eyes. It was the strangest thing.

After a few minutes of silence, York started a conversation about languages and things went well from there. They received their meals after a while and dug in, York occasionally tearing up at the spiciness of his food, which seemed to amuse Delta in some perverse way. The rest of dinner passed uneventfully, full of pleasant conversation and this multi-layered Spanish cake that they split with no end of awkwardness involving stabbing each other's forks and trying to get the last bite of cake at the same second.

Then they found themselves in the parking lot again, York leaning on his car without getting in and Delta staring up at the sky.

"Hey, what do you say to some fun?" Delta looked at him, eyebrows slightly raised in question.

"Well, I can't tell you, where the excitement be in that? You'll just have to join in and see." Delta narrowed his eyes in suspicion. York's half-smile spread to split his face.

"C'mon, you won't regret it."

He hopped into his car and Delta had no choice but to follow – his books were in there.

Starting the ignition and moving out of the parking lot just a little too fast, York drove for what seemed like only five minutes before reaching a gigantic building that couldn't be anything other than a warehouse. Getting out and approaching York's side, the younger man was still suspicious. It was at least midnight and the only large buildings open this late were obnoxiously noisy clubs and or raves, neither of which he wanted to populate.

"York, if this is some sort of watering hole for society's bottom rungs, I do no think I will have any sort of fun in there."

He was met only with a stern "Shhh!" as York slid something out of his back pocket and then into the door. On closer inspection, Delta realized they were lockpicks and his interest was piqued. Suddenly, all regard for legality was dropped and Delta wanted to know what was on the other side of this wall.

Sliding the door only enough to let himself and Delta in, complete darkness enveloped them. Reaching out tentatively for York, Delta was met with the same hand he couldn't bear to touch earlier today. Accepting this as necessity rather than a sign of emotional affection, he let his hand be held as he was led into the darkness. They came upon another door – this one wasn't locked. When York pushed it open, Delta gasped, one of the most violent shows of emotion the entire night.

What was behind the door was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful things Delta had ever seen. Someone had a biological lab in here, and they were growing bioflorescent generations of slime molds and many other things. The colors were startling and in the darkness they made both he and York light up like disco balls.

York stood back and treasured the sight of Delta inspecting every Petri dish for a name, or perhaps he was scrutinizing the colors. Whatever he was doing, the wonder was obvious on his face. Green eyes much wider than usual, mouth pressed into a little half-smile, he was happy. For some strange reason, York felt this peculiar feeling in the pit of his stomach that – if he was pressed to do so – he would identify as a type of content he hadn't felt in years.

After Delta had exhausted his eyes from staring at all the glowing colors – it had at least been an hour and a half – he approached York again.

"How did you find this place?"

York shrugged and whispered casually, "I snoop."

Delta didn't even frown at those words that time. "I am ready to leave if you are." York nodded and clasped his hand around Delta's once again, leading him out of the lab into the darkness and through the warehouse until they were at the sliver of night sky once again. Getting back in the car after he had locked up the warehouse once more, York caught Delta taking a big yawn.

Driving back towards the restaurant and the convenience store, York heard Delta's breath even out and deepen, a clear sign that he had fallen asleep. Perhaps it was past D's bedtime anyway – what time was it? Two o' clock in the morning. That was nothing to York, but he supposed that the younger men needed more sleep, didn't they?

Delta woke to a soft nudge on his side.

"Hey, wake up, sunshine." Groaning slightly, he sat up, glasses disheveled.

"Wh-York? What time is it?"

"Not sleeping time yet, I need you to tell me where your apartment is."

Groggily giving half-assed directions, they got there without too much hassle. Delta had fallen asleep again though, and York was considering just carrying him up when he rolled over in the car seat and slightly fell, jolting himself out slumber and making him sit straight up with an extremely afraid look on his face.

"Hey. Hey, you're alright. You're fine, D." Delta sighed and blinked, staring out at his apartment building before getting out.

"I require your assistance in helping me with these book piles." York smiled and picked up most of them, leaving the smaller fourth of the stack to Delta. They plodded up the rusty metal stairs and into D's rundown apartment, York immediately noticing that the ceiling was cracking and the rugs were shot. After placing the books down, he looked over to see that Delta's bed was the moth-eaten couch, and he frowned.

Said man had begun to sway unsteadily on tired feet, and York reached over to slowly lower him onto his 'bed' of blankets meant to keep him and whatever critters that lived in the couch separate from one another. Delta muttered 'thank you's' and 'can I pay you back's?' into York's shoulder, and he softly denied every one until D was asleep again.

Sighing, he stood up.

Looking back down at the prone figure of his new friend, he figured it couldn't hurt.

"Sweet Dreams, D."

York locked the door to the apartment behind him and took off, hoping he hadn't invested too much of himself in this strange little man with circuitry green eyes already.

But who was he kidding?

* * *

><p>I love these two to death, not going to lie. I mostly interpret Delta in a human state to be not necessarily mutable but certainly more open to emotion than he would be as a program. I'm definitely not planning on changing his base characteristics because that's what makes Delta <em>Delta<em> and that's why he gets on so well with York.

Ah well, tell me what you think.


End file.
